


We Never Thought We'd Find a Place Where We Belong

by withthepilot



Category: 21 Jump Street (2012)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Behind the Scenes, First Time, Getting Together, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since they became friends in the police academy, Jenko and Schmidt have been circling something bigger but their insecurities keep getting in the way. It starts with a hump and it ends with a grope and it takes almost losing each other to finally make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Never Thought We'd Find a Place Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleanor_lavish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, eleanor_lavish! Hope this is up your alley.
> 
> Title taken from the 21 Jump Street theme song, though it's phrased slightly differently in the original TV version. Also, there's an extended reference to a 2013 movie that doesn't match with the timeline of this movie, but please bear with me for the sake of creative license.

Jenko knows he's fucked when Schmidt's mom catches him stuffing the vandalized photograph of his former best friend in his duffel bag.

"I thought I threw that away," she says. 

She peers at him from the doorway of Jenko and Schmidt's bedroom—though it's only Schmidt's again, now that the two of them have had it out in front of the entire school and Principal What's-His-Fuck decided he had enough of their shit. The guy is too high-strung for his own good but Jenko can't blame him. He's sick of them, too—Jenko and Schmidt, Schmidt and Jenko. Or is it Doug and Brad, Brad and Doug? Either way, they're like a bad song Jenko can't get out of his head. His so-called "partner" has humiliated him for the last time and Jenko just wants out, never wants to see that asshole again.

Which is totally true, except for the fact that he's smuggling a defaced photo of baby Schmidt out of his parents' house, complete with that lewd scribble of a dick and balls heading straight for his pouty mouth.

"I thought it was cute," he says. Schmidt's mom gives him a _look_.

"You're a good kid, but a little sick in the head." She glances at the framed photo clutched tightly in Jenko's hands, a sour look on her face. "Goddamn savages. I only thank god I still have the negatives."

Jenko shrugs. "I can leave the frame, if you want."

"No, you take it." She sighs and tilts her head. "You sure I can't talk some sense into you and ask you to stay?"

"No, ma'am," he says, shoving the photo into his bag. "Assignment's over. Captain's orders."

"Well, I'd say I'll miss you, but the two of you together are a giant pain in my ass. Just take some lasagna before you go."

When Schmidt stops him by his car—bag full of Tupperware containers of leftovers and that stupid photo—Jenko tries not to look as relieved as he feels. And when Eric shows up, all _yo, get in the car, yo_ , Jenko wants to punch him in his stupid big-mouthed bass face more than ever.

He wonders how obvious it is that he's in love with Schmidt. Probably a lot. He's never been good at hiding things. But at least for now, he can sling his bag into the backseat of Eric's car and forget about it for a while. Maybe.

"Dude, did you bring lasagna with you?" Schmidt asks during the drive, sniffing the air.

"Yeah, you want some?"

"Yeah, dude."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Eric asks, as he watches them pass a container between the front and back seats. 

"Man, watch the road," Jenko snaps. He shoves a piece of lasagna into his mouth with his bare fingers. He can see Schmidt smile faintly in the rearview mirror.

Yeah, it'll probably be okay. But still. He's majorly fucked.

*

Schmidt tries his best, on most days, not to think about how fucked he is. And that's because he's so fucked he can barely comprehend it. He is absolutely, positively fuh- _ucked_. 

It's a thought that occurs early on in his friendship with Jenko, the very first time he sees the guy hump someone. It's right after Jenko gets his first bull's-eye at the academy's shooting range, quickly followed by his second. He lifts his gun in the air, practically roars, and then grabs another cadet around the waist and goes to _town_. Any confusion brought on by the odd show of pride is quickly erased when the other cadets remember how much they fucking love Jenko. They all start emulating him and soon there's a whole room of whooping, muscle-bound cadets dry humping the shit out of each other.

Schmidt has to excuse himself from the premises. It's ironic, really—a whole squad of young policemen-in-training rubbing off on each other and yet if Schmidt popped a boner in front of them, _he'd_ be the gay one.

After that, life continues to prove itself unfair and horrible. Jenko isn't just a touchy-feely kind of guy; he has a humping _problem_. The guy just can't help himself. Somewhere along the line, maybe during a particularly disturbing stretch of his upbringing, Jenko somehow learned to equate elation with his crotch. And while that might not be too far from the truth, Schmidt is determined to keep their friendship exactly what it is—a friendship. He endured enough grief from Jenko in high school and he doesn't want to go back to all that unpleasantness.

Jenko makes it really difficult, though. Like when Schmidt wakes up to the foreign weight of Jenko straddling his lower back, grinding his morning hard-on against Schmidt's spine. Yeeeeeeah. That's all sorts of uncool. Also kinda hell yes, but mostly uncool.

"Oh, my god. Jenko, get _off_."

"No prob. Gimme, like, thirty seconds."

"I mean, _get off of me_ , you fucking asshole!"

Jenko is stronger than Schmidt on a typical day, but nothing gets the muscles flexing like a good, old-fashioned bout of gay panic. Schmidt bucks so hard that Jenko falls off the bed. There's a loud thunk and then laughter.

"Dude, that was like riding a bull!"

"I didn't ask you to ride me. Learn some fucking boundaries, man."

Jenko furrows his brow, his lips curled in a half-sneer as he crouches on the floor. "Chill the fuck out. What are you, a homophobe?"

"No, of course not." Schmidt turns onto his side to peer at Jenko. "Why, are you…?"

"Not that I know of," Jenko says, his eyes darting. "I just think homophobes are stupid."

"Well, that makes two of us."

"Cool, well. Sorry I freaked you out. I'll try to respect your boundaries." He stands and dusts himself off. "From now on, I'll only ride you when you're awake."

Schmidt blinks as he watches Jenko head to the bathroom. He supposes he can't ask for more than that.

*

There's one thing Jenko has always wanted to ask Schmidt, which is why on Earth Schmidt didn't go to college. It's not like he couldn't have. The guy's a friggin' genius. He graduated at the top of their class and he blew everyone away on every single test at the academy. It seems like a weird career choice for a smart guy like that. Jenko gets the urge to ask occasionally, especially during downtime moments, like when they're riding around on bike patrol, scolding kids and old people for feeding ducks. But Schmidt never brings it up so Jenko assumes it's private, whatever it is.

Then there's the day they present their (admittedly shitty) findings to the captain, and Schmidt goes on this weird tear about Eric and what a fucking prince among men he is.

"He's getting into Berkeley, early admish…and he totally gets me."

"Fucking kill me," Jenko mutters under his breath. He really hates Eric. And not just because he's a smarmy pair of arched, bushy eyebrows that never shuts the fuck up about saving Mother Earth. 

Jenko hates Eric because Schmidt loves Eric. And Eric is so different from Jenko. It makes Jenko wonder how Schmidt can even tolerate him, let alone call him a best friend, if he thinks someone like _Eric_ is the shit.

"Hey, Schmidt," he says later, when they're each using their computers, their backs to each other. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, I guess."

"How, um. How come you never went to college, man?"

"Uh, what?"

Jenko peers over his shoulder and sees Schmidt liking a photo on his fake Facebook wall, posted by—who else?—Eric the fuckwad. He rolls his eyes and hunches further in his chair.

"Nothing. Never mind."

It's not until later that night, when the lights are off and Jenko's curled up on the semi-comfortable air mattress he now calls home, that Schmidt brings it up again. Jenko's drifting on the outer edges of sleep, his eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, and he almost misses it when Schmidt starts talking.

"Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"About the college thing."

"'Cause, man. You're smart as hell. You could've…I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't wanna. I was just wondering."

Schmidt exhales and stares at the ceiling. From his vantage point on the floor, Jenko can make out the slightly rounded curve of Schmidt's jaw, illuminated by the moonlight filtered through the window blinds.

"I guess I wanted to prove something to myself," Schmidt says. His voice is slightly hoarse like always but even-toned. "I already knew I could do the academic stuff. I wanted to see if I could do…something else. Something like this."

Jenko grinds his teeth, not knowing what to say. On the one hand, he thinks Schmidt has to be the bravest guy he knows. On the other hand? He feels bad. For himself, that is. Because Schmidt gets to be good at school _and_ good at being a cop, whereas Jenko's always going to be kind of a dumbass without Schmidt's help.

"Must be nice," he mumbles, unable to stop himself.

"What?"

"Y'know. Being a super genius _and_ a kickass cop."

Schmidt scoffs and shakes his head. "Dude. Are you kidding me? I'd have shot myself in my right ass cheek a long time ago if not for you."

Jenko smiles. He isn't sure how that can be true but it makes his stomach flutter just to hear Schmidt say it.

"Promise not to shoot yourself in the ass unless I'm there to watch," he says. "With a big-ass bucket of popcorn."

"You get an engraved invitation, Greg."

Jenko has to slap him with his pillow for that one. Right in the dick. Schmidt curses and flails but he doesn't hit him back. He knows he deserved it.

*

If there's one thing Schmidt will never truly get over, it's the shock of seeing Jenko in the nude. Especially when the guy is fresh from the shower and dripping wet. That's how it was the first time, back in the academy, during the very first week that they roomed together. Jenko just walked out of the shower with a towel slung low around his hips, casual as you please, as if he didn't have the body of a fucking Greek god. 

Then, to make matters worse, the towel fell. Schmidt didn't believe in a higher power but he still prayed for a tornado or a tsunami to blast through the building and put him out of his misery.

"Oops," Jenko said—fucking _oops_ —and bent down to pick it up, giving Schmidt a side-view of his ridiculously nice ass. Seriously, how could someone have an ass that nice? It wasn't logical. "Sorry, man." Jenko wrapped the towel around his waist, a little tighter this time. "Kinda flashed you there."

"It's cool," Schmidt said, making a face and shrugging. "Not like I've never seen a dick before. I mean, I see my own dick every day. I'm pretty familiar with dick. Like, me and dick? We go way back."

"You're talking a lot about your dick, Not-So-Slim Shady. Too much."

Yes, yes, he was. Schmidt shut his mouth, turned back to his studying, and tried to block out the image of Jenko's naked wang forever.

After that, Schmidt assumed he'd be prepared for the next time he saw it. But all that self-assurance flies out the window when he walks into his bathroom and catches Jenko trimming his pubes above the toilet, totally naked.

"Oh, shit—" Jenko blurts, reaching out to shut the door on Schmidt.

"Oh, my god. I'm sorry! I'm sorry."

"Dude, you share a bathroom now. Can't you remember how to knock?"

Schmidt leans against the closed door and rubs a hand over his face. "Well, maybe next time warn me when you decide to get naked and go do weird shit in there."

"Pube trimming isn't weird! Everyone does it!" Schmidt doesn't answer, which means that Jenko pipes up three seconds later with, "Whoa, have you never trimmed your pubes? It must be like the fucking Amazon down there. All humid with crazy flora and fauna and shit."

"No way, I've totally, um, man-scaped before." 

Jenko opens the door and Schmidt nearly falls backwards. "No, you haven't," he says. He walks into the bedroom, snapping the elastic band of his boxers, and Schmidt's fingers flex instinctively with the urge to slowly pull those bad boys down Jenko's legs. Jenko turns and holds something out to Schmidt: a small pair of scissors. "Here, use these. Nobody likes getting pubes in their teeth, okay? Especially not girls. This isn't _The Ten Commandments_ and you're not the talking bush."

Schmidt reels back. "That's the burning bush! And I'm not using your scissors to trim my pubes, dude!"

"They're just scissors!" Jenko tilts his head, eyes wide. "Did you or did you not have your fingers halfway down my throat the other day?"

"Fair point," Schmidt says. 

The truth is, he doesn't care much what _girls_ think—he likes Molly a lot but he knows Captain Dickson will shove a hot poker up his ass if he even thinks about it—but he does care what Jenko thinks. So, later that night, he goes into the bathroom and trims his pubes. And he does it in the shower, like he thinks a normal person should, as opposed to hovering over an open toilet bowl. When he turns the water off, Jenko starts knocking on the bathroom door immediately.

"Dude, lemme see," he calls.

"No! Why?!"

"I had the honor of being the first person to convince you to chop down that rainforest between your legs, so I should be the first person to see it all pruned."

Schmidt squints, toweling off quickly. "Don't you think that's weird?"

"You've seen my dick at least twice. Maybe more."

"Ugh, _fine_."

And Jenko's right; it shouldn't be weird. They're best friends and they do everything together and a dick is a dick. Except that when Schmidt lets Jenko inside the bathroom and peels back the towel, it is kind of weird. Jenko gets this strange look on his face and purses his lips, clearly trying to think of something to say. Schmidt, to his unending chagrin, feels himself growing half-hard under the weight of Jenko's stare.

"It looks good," Jenko finally says, hands splayed. "Like, it's nice."

"Oh, my god," Schmidt groans, covering his groin again.

"No, I mean, considering it's your first time, it looks really good. I saw some fine craftsmanship at work there."

Schmidt waves him away. "Thank you. You're the worst and I hate you forever. Now please get the hell out." He can't really read the small smile on Jenko's face as he backs out of the room.

"Now you can ask Molly out," Jenko says as he leaves. The door shuts and Schmidt sits on the edge of the tub.

"Right," he says to the empty room.

*

One afternoon, Eric, Molly, and Juario meet up with Schmidt at his locker and invite him to go see that new movie about the giant robots that fight sea dinosaurs or whatever. Jenko pretends not to hear or pay attention until Schmidt says his name—well, his fake name.

"Is it cool if Brad comes, too?"

Jenko is surprised, to say the least, considering how Schmidt tends to leave him out when he hangs with the special little snowflake crew. He glances over and resists the strong urge to flip Eric off when Eric's lip curls.

"Yeah, sure, I guess," Eric says. "Long as he tries not to punch anyone again for no fucking reason."

Jenko thinks that in Eric's case, he would definitely have a reason. 

"Hey, thanks, man," he says, giving him a big, fake smile. "I'll try to contain myself."

"Make sure you do, or else there might be trouble. Ja feel?"

"What'd you say, dude? Ja Rule? Zsa Zsa Gabor?"

Schmidt starts laughing awkwardly, waving his hands. "Ja feel, man, we all…totally feel. Let's just go, okay?"

He throws Jenko a pained look over his shoulder as they start to leave. Jenko rolls his eyes and shuts his locker with more force than necessary. _Ja feel._ Seriously, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? The kid needs someone to rearrange his face _and_ his vocabulary.

The movie is pretty cool, even if every time Jenko turns to whisper to Schmidt, he's too busy exchanging sweet nothings with Molly. Once they're back home ("home") and Jenko's asleep on the floor of Schmidt's room, he has a dream that the two of them are pilots of one of those giant jaeger things. They get dressed up in badass combat suits and they're facing this huge, pissed-off kaiju that's threatening to terrorize southern California. 

"Dude," Schmidt says. When Jenko looks over, interrupted from their drift, Schmidt is fucking _texting_ on his phone. "Eric just posted the funniest video to my Facebook wall. It's this goat that can't stop pooping."

"Holy shit. Put that thing down _now_ before I feed you to the kaiju."

"Oh, good one," Schmidt scoffs, still texting. "What are you gonna do when it comes time to read it its Miranda rights?"

"This is the future, asshole! It's a fucking war zone! There are no Miranda rights!"

"You're so jealous that I'm cool now and you're not; it's _hilarious_."

Jenko snarls. "I'm not jealous! Eat a dick, Schmidt!"

Schmidt bats his eyelashes. "Oh, whose dick? Your dick? Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"What?" Jenko feels himself go red in the face and Schmidt's laughter rings out in the echo chamber of the jaeger. "Man, fuck you!"

"Again, you'd probably love to—"

After that, things get kind of ragey. Jenko starts tearing wires out of their sockets, sparks go flying, and all he knows is that he has to get to Schmidt so he can either kiss him or punch him in the face. Actually, he's going to punch him even harder because he has _no_ idea where that kissing thought came from, and the only thing that will erase it is the sensation of pounding Schmidt into the floor. There are all these shrill noises and sirens blaring in Jenko's ears, amping him up even more, and then the jaeger starts teetering because no one is manning the controls. Schmidt is screaming at him and Jenko can only make out words here and there, like "stupid" and "idiot" and then "OH FUCK NO HOLY CRAP" when the kaiju starts to literally _rip the jaeger apart_. 

"Schmidt!" Jenko yells, just as the kaiju reaches inside and rips Schmidt out of the cockpit. They're both still in the drift so Jenko can feel Schmidt's fear and pain, his sense of _betrayal_ , and he falls to his knees screaming Schmidt's name, holding his hands over his ears.

"JENKO!" Schmidt yells back. "Jenko, wake UP!"

"Wha—wha?" Jenko wakes up swinging and barely avoids socking Schmidt in the jaw. He gasps for air, stilling only when Schmidt grabs his arms. "Oh, my god. What the fuck?"

"That's what I was gonna say, dude. You started kicking in your sleep and yelling my name. What the fuck were you even dreaming about?"

Jenko shakes his head, still feeling fuzzy. Schmidt is really close to him and he swallows, feeling vulnerable. "Just like…the movie and stuff. We were in a jaeger. You and me."

Schmidt smirks. "I guess it didn't go well."

"You were texting. So, no, not really." 

Jenko takes a deep breath, which finally helps him relax. Schmidt's hands are still wrapped around his biceps though, and Jenko can feel the half-moons of Schmidt's fingernails digging into his skin. It's not exactly unpleasant. He doesn't know what it is, really. He's still a little trembly and confused. And wasn't there a part of his dream that made him feel kind of the same way? He can't remember exactly, but…

"I guess I should let go of you now," Schmidt says. Then he does and Jenko actually feels his heart go _thump_ in his chest. Schmidt licks his plump lips and looks him over. "You okay?"

"Yeah, m'good."

Schmidt pats Jenko's chest. "Cool. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah. All right."

Jenko grabs hold of the covers he kicked off while he was dreaming and pulls them back up again, trying to get comfortable. One thing he'll be glad about when this mission is over is getting back to his own bed with its normal mattress and IKEA frame. He fidgets for a few minutes, until Schmidt peers over the side of the bed.

"Hey, um. If you're worried about having more nightmares, you can…I guess, come up here with me? I dunno if we'll both fit, but."

He considers it for a long moment, being crammed into that tiny twin-sized bed with Schmidt, probably needing to spoon in order not to fall off the mattress. Jenko clears his throat and shakes his head.

"It's, uh. It's cool, dude. It'd be way too crowded. I just need to shut my brain off. Thanks, though."

"Yeah, no problem."

For a second it almost looks like Schmidt is disappointed. But when Jenko shuts his eyes, he assures himself he must have imagined that.

*

_You're a goddamn rock star. Do you feel that? Damn, you're so cool._

Even now, more than twenty-four hours after everything went down, Jenko's words still echo loudly in Schmidt's ears. It's not even what he said, really, but more so the reverence in his voice and the look of awe on his face as he said it. It's the guy who used to torture Schmidt in high school telling him now that _he's_ the rock star, that _he's_ the cool one. Never before in his life has Schmidt ever felt cool—his parents named him Morton, after all, dooming him from day one—but if Jenko says he is, then maybe, just maybe, he can believe it.

Yeah. Fuh- _ucked_.

In the calm after the storm, Schmidt knows he has some big thinking to do and even bigger decisions to make. Resolving things with Molly was fairly easy. He explained everything, they kissed, and…well, Schmidt can't say it wasn't an awesome kiss. But he thinks they both know it was really more of an ending than a beginning—a sweet goodbye. Molly is free now to go back to her life, to go to college and make something of herself, just as Schmidt knows she will. And he's back to being a cop—a cop with real, deep, and kind of insane feelings for his partner.

They came back to Schmidt's parents' house after the entire ordeal, since all of their stuff was still there. They were both wiped from exhaustion after their shared hours-long adrenaline high. Schmidt went to the bathroom to pee and when he came back, Jenko was already passed out, facedown on Schmidt's bed. It didn't look good for the sling, so Schmidt decided to roll him over onto his back and take the floor mattress for once. Moving Jenko's dead weight sapped all of his remaining strength, though, and he woke up ten hours later with his legs tangled with Jenko's and his face tucked into Jenko's armpit.

It wasn't the worst way in the world to start the day. But Schmidt sure as hell pretended like nothing had happened when Jenko emerged from the bedroom for breakfast a half-hour later. He helped Jenko get dressed and packed, they went over to Jump Street for some well-deserved bragging, and then they shared one last hug before Jenko went back to his own apartment.

Now Schmidt's childhood bedroom doesn't feel the same without Jenko. More than eighteen years spent in the room alone and now Schmidt will forever associate its four walls with Greg Jenko. That has to mean something, right? 

Schmidt also remembers what he said last night.

_You're smart. You're a smart guy. You're thoughtful and you're sincere, and you're sweet and you're loyal…and I fucking cherish you._

The best part is, when he finally got up the nerve to say it, Jenko knew he wasn't joking. He looked at Schmidt like he hung the moon. And it meant so much more than the kiss with Molly because it was _Jenko_. All roads lead back to Jenko and they always have.

So basically Schmidt is an idiot for sitting in his room all alone. That much is clear. It's even clear to his parents, who ask him where he's running off to when he bounds down the stairs.

"Going over to Jenko's," he says.

"What took you so long?" his mom asks.

"Remember the magic words: safe, sane, and consensual," his dad adds. He digs into his wallet and pulls out a plastic square. "You need to borrow a condom?"

"You're killing me. You're literally killing your only son." He pauses and sniffs the air. "Also, do I smell pot in here?"

His mom coughs. "No. Now go get him, Schmidtty."

Schmidt _runs_ out of the house, making a beeline for his car, the adrenaline pumping through his veins again. He forms barely even one coherent thought on the entire drive to Jenko's apartment, his mind too busy racing with all of the possibilities regarding what’s about to happen.

When Jenko answers the door in a tight tank top and boxers, his arm still protected by the sling, Schmidt's mind goes blank. Because of course.

"You miss me already?" Jenko asks, smiling.

"Yeah," Schmidt answers honestly. He smiles at Jenko's look of surprise. "Can I come in? I feel like I need to say something to you."

"Sure, okay." Jenko shuts the door behind them and rubs the back of his neck. It's pretty unfair how he stills looks heartbreakingly handsome even when he's being awkward. "What's up, man?"

"I just wanted you to know that I meant everything I said last night."

"I know you did. I did, too."

"And—and you shouldn't worry about the college thing. Because you're smart, like I said. And I'll be there to help you if you need me. And you probably won't even need me because you can do anything. Like, that covalent bond thing last night? That was _insane_. Did I even get to tell you that? That was the most brilliant thing I've ever seen anyone do. You're gonna kick _so_ much ass in college, Jenko. You don't even know."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Jenko asks, looking—wow, shy.

"'Cause you're my best friend and you're awesome. And 'cause you deserve to hear it." Schmidt shrugs and clears his throat. "Also 'cause I maybe have…feelings for you?"

"Hold up," Jenko says, snapping to attention. "You do?"

"I think so? I mean, I know so." Schmidt scuffs his feet and buries his hands in his pockets. "But that's kinda weird, huh? After everything we've been through? It's weird. I know. I'm just gonna—"

"No, it's _awesome_. Because I have feelings for you, too!"

Schmidt blinks in disbelief. "Wait, what? Seriously?"

"Yeah! Dude, are you crazy? I can't believe you didn't notice I was crushing on you; I thought I was so obvious!"

"I thought _I_ was obvious," Schmidt says. "When you walk into a room, it's like I can't even focus on anyone else but you. You're so hot I feel like I wanna eat my own fist sometimes. I wanna punch myself in the face until I lose consciousness."

"You're such a fucking nerd," Jenko says, looking fond as he shakes his head. "And we're so unbelievably gay for each other."

Schmidt can't help but grin. "Should we high-five?"

"No way, dude." Jenko steps forward and unzips Schmidt's hoodie all the way. "What we should do is take out our dicks."

Schmidt swallows and flings off his hoodie. His best friend Jenko really is a genius.

*

If Jenko weren't so hard already, he'd give up after the first five seconds of his head being stuck in his tank top.

"Watch the sling, watch the sling," Schmidt insists, plucking at the fabric and catching the hem on Jenko's nose.

" _Ow_ ," he says. When the tank comes off five seconds later, he breathes a sigh of relief. He looks down at Schmidt, who's kneeling on the bed. "Okay, now the boxers. Hurry, dude."

"I'm taking my time, okay? You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Jenko gets the picture, actually, what with the way Schmidt slides the elastic carefully over his hip bones and lingers over the fuzzy texture of the worn cotton before slowly, ever so slowly, sliding them down Jenko's outstretched legs. He goes a little breathless at the sensation of the fabric slipping along his skin, paired with the intense look in Schmidt's eyes. Jenko drops his head back and swallows, willing his hips not to jerk.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Schmidt mutters. "Your abs just like, rippled. Like a stone skipping across a motherfucking pond. How are you so gorgeous? I, like, wanna die."

Jenko laughs. "My dick is gonna be so pissed off if you die. Also, stop saying things that make me want to throw you down and fuck you when I have a gunshot wound in my arm."

"Dear Korean Jesus: For the love of all that's Korean and holy, _please_ heal Jenko's arm ASAP."

"And _please_ tell Schmidt to do _something_ with my cock before I die from fucking blue balls."

"I could fuck you, maybe." Schmidt moves between Jenko's legs and runs his thumbs along the vee of his hip bones, which feels so good it's unreal. "I've never done it with a dude, but…"

"Yeah, and I've never had a—yeah. So maybe we should work up to that."

"Yeah, right? We've got time. We're going to college soon. All we'll have is free time to fuck. And, y'know, an undercover investigation."

"It's sounding better already," Jenko says. "But seriously. My dick. Now. Something. Help me out, here."

"Like this?" Schmidt glides his fingers over Jenko's shaft and Jenko does buck this time, unable to help himself once he's granted that first glorious touch. "Wow, you are _responsive_. I would not have guessed."

"I'm full of fucking surprises," Jenko grunts. Schmidt hums in response and curls his hand around him, stroking properly and sliding his thumb along the pronounced vein. Jenko makes a choked noise and clutches his pillow with his free hand. "Fuck, that's good…"

"Yeah? I'm just doing to you what I'd do to myself, really."

"That's kinda hot. I dunno why, but it is."

"I usually think about you," Schmidt says, the tips of his ears going red. He slides his other hand down to Jenko's balls and cups them firmly. "That time when you dropped your towel at the academy?"

Jenko jerks and lets out a groan. " _Fuck_ , that was ages ago. You remember that well enough to jerk off to it?"

"Yeah. I do." Schmidt twists his wrist on an upstroke. He looks up and licks his lips. "This all working for you?"

Jenko arches, twisting slightly on the bed. "You can't tell?"

"I kinda want to put it in my mouth."

"I'm not gonna fucking stop you, dude."

After that, Schmidt decides to just fucking go for it—he leans down and wraps his lips around the head of Jenko's dick. His mouth feels so hot and so good and all he's done is take one little suck of the head. Jenko shudders and makes the mistake of looking down to see, just as Schmidt is about to lower his head. Jenko bucks at the sight of Schmidt's shiny lips wrapped around him, and he practically shoves his dick all the way into Schmidt's mouth, causing him to choke and reel backwards. 

"Dude, what the fuck?" Schmidt rasps.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it! It felt too good!"

"Hasn't anyone ever sucked your dick before?"

"Yeah, but this is _you_!"

Jenko feels embarrassed once the words are out there, but he holds Schmidt's gaze all the same. Schmidt looks back at him, nostrils flared and a faint sheen of sweat along his forehead, and then he fucking _dives_ back in, wrapping his hand around the base of Jenko's dick and taking most of it into his mouth. Jenko nearly chokes on his own spit. Schmidt bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks, and Jenko flashes back to the same expression of determination he remembers seeing on Schmidt's face when running track at the academy and facing down Mr. Walters. The very thought, the very _idea_ that Schmidt would put that much effort and energy into making Jenko feel good makes his cock twitch and his balls tighten.

"Shit, I'm gonna come," he says. "Schmidt…shit."

He lifts his head. "Do you wanna come in my mouth? Should we try that? I've never tried that but—"

"Oh, shit, _shit_ —"

Unfortunately, the mental image of Schmidt with a mouth full of dick and come is too much for Jenko's brain to process, and he ends up shooting all over Schmidt's face. Schmidt squeaks and tips backwards on the bed.

"Dude, it went up my nose!" he yells. Jenko laughs and shivers, feeling giddy and sex-drunk.

"C'mere, baby, let me kiss it better."

Schmidt looks slightly red in the face but he obliges and lets Jenko lick his face (mostly) clean, then slide his tongue into that hot, beautiful mouth. Jenko moans deeply into the kiss when he feels Schmidt's hard cock against his hip, and he tugs gently on Schmidt's lower lip.

"Dude, I'm like, obsessed with your mouth. You know that?"

"That's cool, 'cause I'm obsessed with your ass," Schmidt says. He gives it a squeeze for emphasis. "You think it would be okay if I, um…"

"What?"

"I just wanna, like, feel it. With my dick."

Jenko smirks. "You wanna rub one out on my ass?"

"Yeah. If that's okay. Not actually fucking you, just kinda…"

"No, I get it. That's cool. Condoms in the top drawer of the nightstand." 

"You know my dad tried to give me a condom before I left?"

"No and never mention it again." Jenko turns onto his side as best as he can with the arm injury, trying not to put too much pressure on it. "I would turn onto my stomach, but."

"No, no, this is fine. This is great. It's…oh, sweet Jesus." 

Schmidt scrambles out of his own boxers and fetches the condom, as instructed. Once he's got it on, he practically molds himself to Jenko's back, slotting his dick between Jenko's ass cheeks and groaning into the spot between his shoulder blades. Schmidt wraps one arm around Jenko's middle so as to keep him from bearing down on his wound, and he runs the fingers of his other hand through Jenko's bristly hair. It feels good, it feels safe, and Jenko surrenders himself to it. Miraculously, he's getting hard again, his dick bouncing against the sheets. Schmidt tweaks his nipple and Jenko gasps.

"Oh, my god. Why haven't we been doing this since the academy?" Jenko asks.

"Dude, seriously. Hey, would it be offensive if I asked you to suck on my fingers?"

"No, but I appreciate you asking."

Schmidt rubs his middle and forefinger against Jenko's lips and he sucks them into his mouth, arching back against Schmidt's thrusts. He feels a little crazed, a little unwound and liable to explode, but Schmidt is holding him tight so there's really nothing to worry about. He undulates and swirls his tongue around Schmidt's fingers, and Schmidt's pelvis goes into overdrive.

"Oh, god, Jenko—you're only gonna hump me from now on, right? Only me from now on?"

Jenko nods as best as he can, his mouth a little too full to reply. He skims his teeth along Schmidt's fingers and Schmidt groans against Jenko's nape, his hips jerking one last time before he shudders and comes. They breathe against each other harshly for a few moments before Schmidt gently pulls his fingers away, smearing Jenko's own saliva along his jaw. It's fucking sexy as shit. Who even knew Schmidt could be this sexy?

"Holy fuuuuck," Schmidt groans, collapsing beside him. He looks down blearily as he ditches his condom and blinks. "Shit, you're hard again."

"I can wait 'til later." Jenko rolls halfway onto his back. "That was so hot. How was that so hot?"

"Prob'ly 'cause you're hot."

"No, _you're_ hot. Fucking hell, dude. I didn't even know I was into all of that stuff until you were doing it to me."

Schmidt grins. "Your ass is inspirational."

"I'm gonna do more squats," Jenko says, smiling back. "Let's take a nap and then do it all over again."

"Hell, yes. Here, hold on, lemme…"

Schmidt arranges their bodies so that Jenko leans against him, his bad arm not touching the bed and Schmidt wrapped protectively around him. It feels weirdly familiar.

"You spooned me last night, didn't you?"

"Maybe a little. Preventative measures against getting humped in the morning."

Jenko yawns and shuts his eyes, unable to help a smug smile. "I always knew you liked it."

"The more you knoooow," Schmidt sings softly in his ear. Then, a few seconds later, "Dude, is that my defaced _Wonder Years_ photo hanging on your wall?"

Jenko bites his lip so as not to laugh. "I took a bullet for you, remember?"

"One month. _One_ month, you get to hang that one over my head."

"Three months."

"Two and a handful of morning wake-up humps."

"Deal."

They seal it with a grope.


End file.
